


here is the deepest secret nobody knows

by crooked



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-01
Updated: 2010-09-01
Packaged: 2017-10-11 09:48:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/111045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crooked/pseuds/crooked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's his very own Sirius, the one no-one else in the world gets to see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	here is the deepest secret nobody knows

**Author's Note:**

> [original post](http://crooked.livejournal.com/238289.html) @ livejournal.

Remus moans softly, fingers digging into Sirius' shoulders. He eyes the cracked ceiling above him, wondering if Mrs Finch is going to stomp on the floor and tell them to keep it down yet again. She thinks Sirius has a different girl over every other night, and Remus likes it just fine that way. Mrs Finch loathes Sirius — that no good ruffian, as she refers to him — but she likes Remus, and he'd rather stay on the good side of a woman who makes such delicious clotted cream biscuits.

But Mrs Finch really should be just about the last thing on his mind as Sirius rocks into him, the mattress dipping and groaning, his palms spread over Remus' thighs. So he focusses, concentrates on the way Sirius presses his face against the place where his neck and shoulder meets, how his breathy moans ghost out hot over his skin.

Sirius comes first, gasping and whimpering against Remus' shoulder, biting on the skin, and Remus can feel him shuddering from head to toe. Remus isn't quite there yet, but he doesn't have to say a word to Sirius. When he can breathe again Sirius rolls off to one side of Remus, a leg still slung over his thighs, and wraps his hand around him. He strokes a steady, easy rhythm, lips pressed against Remus' jaw, kissing his two-days' worth of stubble, until he finishes the job. Remus' breath hitches, his eyelashes flutter against his cheeks, and he stuffs the heel of his palm in his mouth to stifle his ragged cry.

They seem to sink into the sea of bedclothes, laying flat on their bellies, horizontal across the bed with two pairs of feet dangling over the side. Sirius' hair sticks up at odd angles as he grins down at Remus, eyes half-lidded and sleepy. It's a sight he's grown accustomed to seeing over the past three years, but Remus never fails to think it's the most beautiful thing in the world.

It's his very own Sirius, the one no-one else in the world gets to see. He's not the cocky, arrogant git he can sometimes be; he's quiet and inexplicably gentle as they lay in bed. He says very few words in the moments immediately after, all soft touches to Remus' cheeks, jaw, collarbone, fingertips trailing down the curve of his spine. With James and Peter around, he's Padfoot the Marauder: nothing but sophomoric jokes and a mouth that would make a sailor blush. At Order meetings and around their old school mates, he's Sirius Black the Gryffindor Rebel: sharp-witted, quick-tongued fallen scion, always ready with a mischievous grin and loads of disarming charm.

But when everything and everyone else around them is stripped away, and it's just the two of them laying together, naked, bodies pressed close together, legs tangled, he just _is_. He's Sirius, the bloke in love with him, so in love Remus can see it in his smile and in his eyes. He can feel it when Sirius leans in and kisses him, lips soft and lingering, the soft slide of his tongue along Remus' a subtle exclamation point on the unspoken sentiment.

The world melts away, and nothing exists beyond the four corners of the bed. There's no war — a battle their numbers and casualties seem to suggest they're losing, but no-one says that out loud despite them all thinking it — and there are no secrets, no wondering if the other is going to make it back from God knows whatever mission in one piece. There are no signs that things are cracking, even though there are hairline fractures just creeping in at the edges.

There's just the late-morning sunlight filtering in through the windows, and the elegant curve at the back of Sirius' neck that's too tempting for Remus to resist. There's just the soft kiss he presses to the skin and the soft sigh it elicits from Sirius. There's just the way that Remus' hand hangs off the bed, and how Sirius snakes his hand up to twine their fingers together, his thumb sweeping over the map of veins at the underside of Remus' wrist.

There's nothing else but the two of them, two boys-pretending-to-be-men not at all pretending to be in love.


End file.
